


To Evil End

by uumuu



Series: Fëanorians beyond the First Age (AUs) [19]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: After the War of Wrath, Celebrimbor has to make a tough decision.





	To Evil End

The letter was very neatly worded and as neatly written as tree bark allowed.

Eönwë handed the two thin tablets, tied together with a leather string, to Celebrimbor, saying, “this arrived not one hour ago. Your father sends it.”

Celebrimbor took the letter, still befuddled after being suddenly dragged from the Falathrim ship where he'd been staying to the camp of the Valar. He didn't know what exactly to expect, but he was fairly sure it wouldn't be something pleasant, or something easy. 

“You are to decide,” Eönwë went on while Celebrimbor was still reading.

He had to read the letter over twice to make sure he had read it right.

“I can't,” he gasped, as his arms began to tremble and his heart filled with horror.

“He wants you to take them to him, so I will let you decide.”

“But...this is folly. I can't do it!”

“He wants an answer by tomorrow night,” Eönwë went blithely on, nodding towards the steel-faced messenger who stood near the entrance to the tent with her two aides. She was fair-haired and tall. Celebrimbor cast her a scathing glance. He didn't recognise her. Not that it would have made a difference. 

“The Silmarils are now in the Valar's care,” he tried protesting again. “You are responsible for them. You should decide!”

“You know your father best. You can tell if he will really go that far.”

“Is this a test?”

“No, I will abide by your decision, as will the whole camp.”

The Vanyarin soldiers who guarded Eönwë's tent were openly scowling at Celebrimbor or looking down on him – or both. 

“You have until tomorrow night to decide. If you choose to take the Silmarils to your father, I will send people with you.” 

During the following hours, as the news of the bargain Curufin was trying to drive spread throughout the camp of the Valar, Celebrimbor was visited by a long line of Vanyar asking/demanding/ordering him not to bring the two Silmarils to his father. One woman urged him to think of their children back in Valinor who had never seen the light of the Two Trees. Why should they never have a chance to bask in the Blessed Light for the sake of two mortal children who would die anyway in a few years? A man went to great verbal pains to stress that if Curufin did what he threatened to do, it would be just his responsibility, not Celebrimbor's.

“I mean, at an abstract level, that is true, but compromise could and should be a thing, sometimes.”

“Your father and uncles were always the ones to attack,” Gil-Galad pointed out.

“I know that! But how far do we want to take our moral superiority? Is it really _worth_ it?” 

“Let your father be like Morgoth if he wants to be. He cannot expect to have the Silmarils delivered to him under those conditions.”

“Ereinion, for fuck's sake, if this letter was in your hands,” Celebrimbor held the tablets up and waved them before Gil-galad's face, “and you had to decide, would you _really_ choose not to hand the stupid gems over if in two days you would have to see someone from your father's camp deliver the cut-off heads and right hands of Elwing's sons to their father? How the fuck would you feel? I don't think I could live with myself, no matter how morally upright and justified everyone thinks my decision was.”

Gil-galad looked like he wanted to say something but his mouth fell shut when Celebrimbor's voice kept rising. Celebrimbor could be intimidating, when he got worked up over something.

“Would your father really do that?” Círdan asked, sounding practical rather than outraged or sanctimonious.

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow that said _'of course, look at Dior's sons'_.

Celebrimbor skimmed the letter again. It was definitely his father's own handwriting. “I'm honestly not sure if he would go that far.”

“What if he is counting on the fact that you, as his son, would not want to let him do that?”

“...he might be.”

Gil-galad stomped one foot on the ship's prow. “And that is why you shouldn't do what he asks!”

“Suppose we don't reply and don't hand the Silmarils over. Elwing's sons die, but then my father might try other ways to get gems, and if he did get them in the end, Elwing's sons would have died absolutely in vain.”

Círdan nodded. “That is a very valid point.”

Celebrimbor cast him a grateful glance. Círdan seemed to be the only person he had ever met to possess true wisdom: Círdan didn't just insist on the most morally pure solution, he knew he wasn't dealing in abstracts.

“We can just get ready to foil his plans,” Gil-galad insisted.

“Despite what you all seem to think, my father and uncles still have very loyal followers, followers who don't look like orcs and can easily get past whatever defences you set up if they disguise themselves well enough. Have you seen the messenger who delivered this? She must have North Sindarin blood.”

“Even if they get inside the camp and to the Silmarils, we can prevent them from getting out again.”

“Sure, why mind few more deaths? For all we know my father may be planning to set the whole camp on fire!”

Celebrimbor stalked off to the railings. He didn't sleep that night, but sat out under the stars on the ship's prow, looking up at Silmaril. He hoped Eärendil hadn't been told what his sons were risking. He hoped he had been spared the details, at least. He thought of his own father. He wasn't sure he could deal with seeing him again, but he didn't want to give in to cowardice, he wasn't going to sacrifice two innocents to spare his own heart.

In the morning he met his father's messenger, who told him when and where his father would meet him. 

*

The spot where Celebrimbor and Eönwë's envoys were to meet Curufin was halfway between the coast and the Taur-im-Duinath, where the Fëanorians were presumably staying. 

When they reached the open plain with the lone oak tree, however, Curufin and the boys weren't there. 

The messenger who had delivered the letter met them. 

“My lord awaits further ahead,” she said with an even, lifeless tone. 

“This was not our deal!” Gil-galad thundered from his horse.

The woman didn't bat an eye. “You may turn back if you don't wish to follow me.”

Celebrimbor spurred his horse on, ignoring Gil-galad's glower and his mutterings that Curufin was indeed just like Morgoth and that they were probably being led into an ambush. Finarfin didn't look any more pleased. Eönwë had sent him with him, maybe in hopes that his presence might intimidate Curufin by reminding him of Finrod. 

The woman made a beeline for the forest, heading north. 

Curufin stood a few paces from the trees, between the twins, who were as tall as him, maybe a little taller already. Both looked to be in perfectly good health. Their clothes were pristine, their hands were unfettered and they didn't even look nervous. For all his faults, Curufin had a knack for making even the direst situation seem perfectly normal with his matter-of-fact attitude. The only time Celebrimbor had seen him lose his composure was when his father and his wife died at the same time. Surely, he must have been beside himself when his brothers died, too. 

Celebrimbor halted his horse and dismounted. He squeezed the reins between his hands before patting the horse's head and reaching for the bag where Eönwë had slid the Silmarils. Seeing them was the last thing he wanted to do now, but he steeled himself and took them out. 

Curufin's black mare was grazing peacefully next to the trees. She raised her head as Celebrimbor approached, peering at him with her big gentle eyes. 

When Celebrimbor was close enough Curufin whispered something to each twin and urged them to leave. The twins didn't look at him, didn't look at Celebrimbor as they passed him, didn't even seem to be interested in the light-turned-solid that Celebrimbor held in his palms. They strode on towards the Valar's envoys and didn't stop until they were safely in their midst. 

Without saying a word, without even the shadow of a thought crossing his mind, Celebrimbor held out the Silmarils to his father. He shivered as Curufin took them and their hands brushed against each other. He barely saw Curufin put them in a pouch attached to his belt.

“Thank you, my son,” Curufin said softly.

“Do not thank me,” Celebrimbor muttered, staring at his father's worn face. “I had no choice.”

“You came back to me.” Curufin reached out again, but Celebrimbor took a step back. “Let's go home.”

“No, father, don't ask me that.”

Curufin lowered his eyes for a moment. “I imagined you wouldn't be easy to persuade.” Without hesitation, he grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow and swiftly drew it. 

He pointed the arrow right at Celebrimbor's chest. 

The Valar's envoys cried out. Gil-galad's voice rose above the clamour, calling Celebrimbor's name. Perhaps he would have done more, but an arrow hissed through air from the top of the rocky knoll to Curufin's right and hit the ground within an inch of Gil-galad's foot.

“I will not let you go again,” Curufin slowly said.

Celebrimbor tried to imagine how it would feel to have his own father kill him like that. The arrow would pierce his heart in an instant. What face would his father make while he died? For a split second, he thought it might be more desirable if one of the Valar's people killed them both. He was sure most of them would have been happy to kill him together with his father, if that didn't mean they too would be shot dead. 

“Don't ruin this now, Tyelperinquar,” Curufin urged. “Get on my horse.”

The mare trotted towards them, and Celebrimbor moved. His father's arrow didn't follow him, which meant he must be now face to face with the Valar's envoys. Celebrimbor held his breath. A second arrow hissed through the air. This time it came from the forest. Curufin chose that moment to get on the horse behind him. 

“Ride to the forest.”

Celebrimbor mechanically did as told. 

They rode along the north edge of the Taur-im-Duinath. When they came to a narrow, barely distinguishable path Curufin instructed him to follow it. The mare galloped along it almost on her own, smoothly navigating the thick shrubbery of the forest proper. They rode for the rest of day and didn't stop at nightfall, though Curufin let the mare slow down to a leisurely canter. As his dizziness over the day's events cleared up, Celebrimbor became keenly aware of his father's arms wrapped around his waist, of Curufin's warmth against his back. His breathing was regular. He must be asleep. Celebrimbor was reminded of the flight from Himlad, only that he had been riding behind his father then, wounded and terrified, and holding on to his father had been a safe haven from darkness and death. 

They stopped in the morning for food. Curufin broke off a bit of lembas from a stale, battered wedge and handed it to Celebrimbor. They didn't speak. They let the mare rest for a couple of hours and started again. 

By dusk they were almost at the eastern end of the Taur-im-Duinath. The forests of Ossiriand were already in sight, across a scorched plain. The valleys and rivers had suffered during the war too, but the trees were still thick at the foot and on the slopes of the Blue Mountains, where what was left of the Fëanorians had actually retreated. 

Curufin had Celebrimbor stop in a clearing, and they finally talked while they waited for the archers who had covered their journey to gather. 

“How did you convince the boys to go along with your plan?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I asked them if they didn't want to meet their father and perhaps their mother again. They said yes, of course, so I told them that I wanted to meet my father again, too, and that the only way for me to do that was to get the Silmarils back. They said the evil things I did sounded a tiny bit less evil if they looked at them that way. They are nice boys, for being Thingol's descendants, Moryo will miss them. So well, they agreed to help me with my plan, but upon condition that I wouldn't ask for the Silmaril their father carries, since their mother had sacrificed herself to win it. I had to acquiesce.” Curufin gave a lop-sided grin. “I can't climb the heavens to get it, after all. But I pointed out to them that if I ever find a way to fly I will try to get it. They didn't seem to think I'd ever be able to do it, but you might help me with that.”

Celebrimbor ignored the implications of what his father had just said. “Would you really have killed them?” 

Curufin smiled his prim smile that meant absolutely nothing. “I counted on you,” he answered without really replying. 

Celebrimbor put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. His father felt lighter than he remembered. “Father! Couldn't you come up with a different plan?”

“Tyelpo...” Curufin made an exasperated face. Celebrimbor frowned. “Yes, I could have come up with a less cruel, less risky way to get the Silmarils back. But that was the only way to get _you_ back, too.”

Celebrimbor froze.

Curufin closed one hand into a fist and reached up to softly tap his knuckles on Celebrimbor's forehead. “Sometimes you are so dense.” He shook his head. “When I heard of Nargothrond's fall I sent scouts west to get news of you, to find out if you were dead or captured or safe, but they came back with nothing at all and I couldn't afford to lose any soldiers in a tricky search. I could only hope. After Doriath, when we came south on Elwing's heels, we heard you were on Balar.” Celebrimbor didn't react in any way, so Curufin added, “I hope you will be able to forgive me for wanting to see you again, at least. For not wanting to have to fear about your fate ever again.” 

Celebrimbor did feel like a fool when it all fell into place and he suddenly became unable to tell whether he had been a means to get to the Silmarils or whether the Silmarils had been a means to get to him. 

He swore under his breath. 

“What do you expect me to say?" he growled, "you terrible, terrible elf.” 

He used his hold on Curufin's shoulder to draw him into a crushing hug. Curufin's heart beat as fast as his own.

“I left Nargothrond before the bridge was even complete, by the way,” he said when he had calmed down.

Curufin pulled back, a proud glint in his eyes. “I had warned them not to do something stupid like that.”

“I did remember what you said, very well.” In hindsight, his father's speech to the people of Nargothrond had revealed all of its sound judgement, though it was doubtful that the people of Nargothrond would ever admit that Curufin had been right. “But now I lost all the things you left behind when you...when I –”

“You still had them?”

Celebrimbor nodded and a gentle, wistful, _true_ smile spread on Curufin's face. 

“It doesn't matter,” he said, “I gave that all up. I burned the last of Father's keepsakes with Nelyo and Cáno. I decided I'd have the Silmarils or nothing at all.”

“What if you can't touch them?”

Curufin patted the pouch where the gems were, shrugging. “I will do my best to put them in a crown for you to wear. No-one will ever match your splendour.”

“So I _have_ to stay with you.”

“Come see your uncles at least. If you absolutely loathe the thought of staying with us I will let you go...though I will still have to keep an eye on you if you leave.”

Celebrimbor held his hands up with a sigh. “For the sake of the peace of Middle-Earth, I say we'd better not do that. I don't think I'd be particularly welcome anywhere now, at any rate.”

“You could still blame me, I wouldn't mind. I did technically kidnap you.”

“More than technically, yes. People would still be suspicious. The Vanyar were already whispering I'd been plotting to return to you all along, and Eönwë made it very clear that bringing the Silmarils to you is an act of evil by the Valar's reckoning.”

Curufin cackled at that. “They should be glad, you fulfilled their prophecy too!”

“To be fair, I'm not particularly sorry about taking the Silmarils from them.”

“Good that we can still agree on something. We could start over from that.”

By the time the moon had climbed to the middle of the heavens, the archers had all assembled in the clearing. There was quite a lot of them. Curufin had not taken any chances. Their leader reported to Curufin, and they agreed to start the trip to Ossiriand before sunrise.

“Would you like to sleep now?” Curufin asked when he was done, while retrieving a pair of blankets from the saddle bag on his horse. “You must be tired.”

Celebrimbor declined to take the blanket his father was offering and beckoned him to sit down next to a holly oak whose broken canopy let moonlight filter through to the ground. 

“You look much worse than me,” he said. 

“Do I look orc yet?” 

“...No, but you could make a convincing impression.”

“Do you think orcs miss their offspring too?”

“They very well might. But I guess it would be better for them not to, given the rate at which they die.”

“Would you be...happier if I was dead?”

“Happier?” Celebrimbor scoffed. He turned to look his father in the eye. “ _You_ should know the answer to that better than anyone else.”

Curufin bit the corner of his lip. He didn't reply, but didn't look away either.

“You could have made me happier in other ways,” Celebrimbor resumed after a time. 

“I'm sorry.”

“I'll take that as a good start. Now, do you have something to eat that isn't years-old lembas?”

“I'm afraid not. Your uncles were going to hunt, up on the slopes of the Ered Luin. Turco says there should still be plenty of game there. I hope they find something.”

“I sure hope so, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure if I wanted Amrod and Amras to be alive here, so I kept that vague...maybe they aren't, though I'd really love to explore a situation where only Maedhros and Maglor die too.
> 
> While writing this I couldn't stop thinking that E&E after being raised by Caranthir, mainly, are probably telling the whole camp of the Valar to fuck off. (I also had an idea for how this AU might continue – basically Elros becomes a smith after learning from Curufin a bit and decides he wants to surpass Curufin which sets the whole Annatar thing into motion (which would end very differently). I'll never write this, so if you want to, feel free).


End file.
